Missing You
by WearetheRevolt
Summary: There is nothing between them. He's just a Death Scythe who takes missions without her now, and she's his pining meister. Nothing. Then why does she have to tell herself this each day? Oneshot. Rated T for language.


**A/N: Hey all~ I've been working on this thing for awhile, I'm really sort of happy with how it turned out. I sort of well... lost control at one point and was like, wait, hold the phone, this sounds like a bunch of rambling sentences thrown together... WTF? Then the orginal one I was working on had gotten deleted when Sebby, (my dear little lappy-top), decided to NOT SAVE IT WHEN I PRESSED SAVE. So, yeah, lots of difficulties and frustration pent up with this story. Haaa, enjoy?**

**Also, this is a birthday-fic for Kashii Ai. Happy birthday~!**

**DISCLAIMER: This girl does not own the wonderful creation that is known by the name of Soul Eater, but only the wonderfully sexually-tense moments she puts them through~**

* * *

This, she concluded, was a bit of a low for her. Sure, her head was hazy with sleep and her joints ached from that days training, and maybe, and this was just a very slim-to-nil possibility, maybe she was also missing him. But, again, that was a very miniscule 'maybe'.

Hard wood floors creaked beneath her feet as she shuffled down the hall, loosening her tie and tripping out of her shoes. Her trench coat came off with a fumble of fingers and buttons and was thrown, quite lazily, upon the arm of the couch. Leaving her items discarded in the hall and living room she made her way to the bathroom, stubbing her toe and muttering curses under her breath at the wall for being in her way.

Though her body shrieked for rest, protesting each movement of joint, muscles and sinew more than the last, she wanted a shower. There was dirt and grime, and plenty of blood- half of which was no doubt her own- that she desperately wanted off of her.

And then there was the preoccupation of her mind on things besides the shower and sleep. Things she never admitted to anyone, rarely even herself. Because if it was even possible for a second that she truly needed him, truly missed him, then maybe her mind would make the next jump to thoughts unthinkable.

As relaxing to her sore muscles and stiff arms the hot water was, she stayed in only long enough to assure her that all traces of blood and dirt were gone from her skin. She then stepped out of the shower, the air out here even chilling her and sending goosebumps to flourish across her skin. With no towels in sight, she elected, as Soul was still on a mission, it would not harm her to make the oh-so-clandestine naked dash to her room.

She didn't bother to close the bathroom door behind her, instead letting the foggy tendrils of heat wash into the hall as she skirted to her room. Yes, she felt uncomfortable, nude in her own house. But this was because the house was not only hers, but in part belonged to him. (The fact also remaining that one certain busty pumpkin witch did traipse in and out of the house at all hours of her own free will, and had in fact, no qualms about being very incredibly nude, especially around her 'pretty scythey-boy'.)

Her door's quiet click told her that she had made it to safety, and her relief could not have been more evident in the way she slumped her shoulders and let her chin loll to her chest. Now that her limbs were so close to a place of rest they seemed to quit functioning correctly, apparently ready to fall into slumber ahead of her own brain.

Finally she just couldn't help herself from simply plopping on the bed, not bothering with any clothing and instead pulling the blankets around her thin and chilled frame. And she chanted in her head something that had become more like a halfhearted excuse than a reminder of the days until it wouldn't be true. "He isn't here."

* * *

The next morning was when her arms told her the previous days work had turned them to jelly, and the ache in her back decided to turn into a full blown stab of pain every other second. But, being Maka Albarn, she couldn't stay in bed and let her wounds heal, she had to get up and do something and be a stubborn idiot.

Clothes, she decided, would probably not help the situation at hand because they would include bending and twisting and stretching. Instead, she swiped her robe from her doorknob and slowly slipped into it, careful not to stretch her arm out to much where she had an incredibly nasty bruise.

Sparring with Black*Star, as helpful as it was on many levels, was a stupid thing to do for five hours on end. Yes, she was not exactly to his level, but with as much frustration and stress that she had had yesterday, she had given him a good opponent. Maka just need to unwind, and Black*Star... well Black*Star was Black*Star and was in no way opposed to fighting for no good reason, or training.

She shuffled out of her room and to the living room, where her coat was still lying rumpled on the couch, and her tie and shoes were at random intervals in a trail to the bathroom. Kicking them out of the way so she wouldn't trip on them later she picked up her coat and tossed it in the hamper with her other clothes in the hamper in the bathroom. While there, she decided bending down to the cabinet to retrieve the heating pad would benefit her more in the long run versus being lazy and not.

There was milk on the counter in the kitchen, courtesy, she believed, of none other than Blair. She wiped it up with a few paper towels and opened the fridge, realizing belatedly that she had yet to go grocery shopping and that they were down to an empty jar of pickles, half a carton of milk, and a near-empty bottle of juice. This she took and poured herself the bare glass it offered, then chucked the bottle into the trash bin.

Plopping was not a good thing to do while having serious bruises on your body, she discovered when she got to the living room. She winced and set her glass down, and settled more easily back into the couch.

This was one of those days where doing nothing was absolutely acceptable to her. In fact, if she didn't need to go shopping, she would have stayed on the couch all day. But she did so it was a mere ten minutes of normal, nothing down-time before she had to get up and retreat to her room.

She really would prefer waiting until Soul returned to do any shopping. Though she was sort of in need of food, she had enough to last her in the cabinets at least.

No, no, Blair would probably complain anyway. She rose from the couch and yawned, then went to her room to get dressed. Truthfully, stretching helped quite a bit. She felt much better when she exited her room, keys and wallet in hand.

A block from the apartment a store front caught her eye. She took a moment to look it over. It had many different instruments- from a guitar to a saxophone to an upright bass. Her eyes were drawn farther, though, past the window display into the store.

Nestled in a back corner of the store, just barely visible to street patrons, lay a black baby-grand. She couldn't help pushing against the door, a smile chiming tinkle filling her ears. Cool air wafted against her skin and smooth, low jazz played from unseen speakers. Looking around for some kind of owner or worker, she found only a small sign taped to the counter.

_Ring bell for service._

"How lame..." She muttered beneath her breath, turning to the piano.

The ivory keys stood out in stark comparison to the jet-black wooden lid. Involuntarily, her hands stretched out to run along the smooth, creamy white keys. Slowly, _slowly, _they came to a stop, and she gently pressed her right index finger down on a singular key, a sharp, high note resounding throughout the small store.

"Please don't touch the instruments."

She spun around, flustered. A man of about twenty with a sandy brown mop of hair stood behind the counter, holding what seemed to be a...bow, with the hair hanging off by the top. He was wearing a black shirt with the store's name emblazoned across the front in curly script, music notes substituting for certain letters.

"O-oh, sorry..." There wasn't a sign, like there should've been...

"It's fine. I've been telling the shop-keep to put up a sign, anyway. Say... are you the partner of that white-haired kid that comes in here?"

She perked up at this. Soul? Came in _here_? Well, yeah, she shouldn't be so shocked, because, after all, it _was_ a _music_ store. But he came in here often enough that the worker knew him? And why, in Shinigami-sama's name, did the worker know _anything_ about _her_?

"Y-yeah... His name's Soul... But how did you know I was his partner?"

The worker seemed taken aback by her reply. "He comes in a lot. Likes to play that piano you were just tinkering with. I let him, only because he helps a lot around the place. Seems to love it, too. I think he wants it. Though he says he can't afford it. He talks a lot about his partner, which, I guess is you." She suddenly detected a lilt of an accent in the man's voice as he rambled.

Soul came in here... to play the piano? This made her feel enraged and happy at the same time. How could he refuse to play around his friends and yet come into the shop of a perfect stranger and play?

Wait, what's that- he talks about _her_?

"O-oh really? That's interesting." Her voice seemed to be failing her. The worker seemed to notice her distress.

"You okay, miss?" Sounded sort of... British. Maybe Australian.

"Yes, I'm fine. Uh... how much, exactly, _is_ this piano?"

* * *

When she got back home, there was a bit of a struggle with her keys. She never was very good with opening the lock on their door, (it was an old apartment, it didn't really help her...), and this time wasn't much different. But when she finally got it open, she was in such a sour mood that she couldn't feel much of a sense of accomplishment.

Vaguely, she heard the shower running in the bathroom. As she passed by the clock, she saw it was around the time Blair would be returning home from Chupa Cabra's, so she dismissed it as the cat wanting to wash off the filth no doubt acquired from the many men who visited the club.

She set the bags on the table in the kitchen and sighed. It had been running through her head over and over: _It had already been two weeks, where the hell was he!_

But this was a normal occurrence and she would remind herself of that same fact every single day, now, it seemed. She would continue normal life, as the newly appointed Death Scythe went on missions- _without her no less_. Yes- she, the bookworm, over-achiever, hard-headed, courageous Maka Albarn- incredibly and terribly missed the 'cool-guy' Soul Eater Evans. Well, more than missed... more like lo-

Such a laughable idea, she though, red tinting her cheeks as she wrestled the last of the groceries away to their appropriate places. Rumpled paper bags littered the floor, and she scooped them up, tossing them in the garbage along with a few old things that shouldn't remain in the refrigerator. Then, still trying to clear _such a laughable idea _from her mind, she pulled a pot from a cabinet and started preparing lunch.

It didn't occur to her until _thirty minutes later _that the living room clock was two hours slow, nor that a bright and loopy-scrawled note was pinned to the fridge. And her only real wake up call to these facts was this:

Hearing the bathroom door open, she set the stew to a lower temperature on a back burner and took off her oven mitts. Her back ached and popped when she stretched, but she knew it was probably more in protest to her still-sore muscles than standing for the past half hour. Bladder twinging with the urge to pee, she popped around the corner as soon as she heard the squeak of hinges.

Big. Mistake.

From the steamy tendrils of air wafting from the bathroom door emerged a very male, very non-pumpkin-cat-witch body. One uncovered, because god damn it, _she hadn't thought to put more towels in the bathroom._

"SOUL!" She squeaked. She felt a rush of emotions hit her- relief and longing and happiness and right at the top: embarrassment.

"When did you- fuck, turn around!"

His voice just shocked her limbs into shutting down even more than they apparently already had, so all she could do was stand and stare and blush scarlet fire, hoping to _dear god_ that this was a dream.

Not so much.

"S-s-sorry, I-"

Soul had dodged back into the bathroom, closing the door all but the tiniest sliver behind him. She could hear him stringing together a long sentence of profanity, much of which was mirrored in her head. Clearing her throat she backed up and directed her voice at the door.

"I thought you were... Blair..."

The door flew open a mere second later, Soul standing in the doorway with _nothing but his boxers on_, which stuck to his legs as did his hair to his face. Her eyes wanted to rove and delve and admire but her mind knew better and kept them from bulging too much out of her sockets after that...last encounter.

Surprisingly, Soul's eyes held not anger or embarrassment... they looked more tired. She swallowed and took a step closer to him and met his eyes more closely. Yes, yes they were tired.

"How the hell did you mistake me for Blair!" But the statement betrayed the not-so-obvious anger and embarrassment, definitely.

"Wh- I- Um-"

"You have Soul Perception, for Christ's sakes!" Okay, it was official, they knew she was a dumb ass for sure now. Surely someone with her level of intelligence should have thought to check for something like that! No. Nope. She was just book smart, for the record. No common sense whatsoever.

An awkward silence spread between the too, almost tangible enough for her to taste. A clear, resounding beep startled them out of it a few moments later as the oven went off. She stumbled away, half tripping and almost needing his help, (thank Shinigami she caught herself), around the corner and ending the timer's raucous noise.

"I'm sorry..." She whispered, turning around to face him. She fiddled with her fingers, staring down at them in an attempt to skirt her eyes from him and all his... _Soul-ness_. (There really was no other word for it.)

"Just... just think next time..." His voice sounded as tired as his eyes seemed. She looked up, meeting his crimson gaze concernedly.

"At least you're finally home." She murmured, noticing with a jolt a healing cut on his left cheek. He grunted in agreement.

"I think you're burning the stew." Was all that he said, and all that she heard him say for the rest of the evening.

* * *

"You know this is going to take you years to pay off, right?" Matthew, (which she had learned was the name of the music store worker), told her one day when she came in to make a payment on the piano. Currently, they were in the process of finding a place they could keep it- because surely the small apartment she shared with Soul would not fit it.

"It'll be worth it." She murmured, handing him off the payment for that month. He took the envelope and set it on the counter, trusting her. "You two are that close?"

She looked over the the piano, it's lid shut today, then back to Matthew. "Yep."

_More than most people would think, _she thought on leaving the store. The door closed accompanied by the familiar chime. Jazz music absent from her hearing, she looked around, trying to decide what to do.

On one hand, she could return home and spend her day avoiding Soul, (which was pretty hard in their apartment), or she could... damn, there wasn't really another option.

The approaching person who she had neglected to observe in her day-dreaming state decided it for her.

"Maka? I thought you were going over to Tsubaki's to-" He seemed to notice her presence in front of the music store, and she shifted from foot to foot, realizing shed been caught red handed.

"Yeah, I was just heading over there..." Her last, lame attempt at regaining some normality.

"Oh?"

"Yes. And what about you- if I'd known you were going out I just would have went with you..."

"I-I'm..."

This dance around each other was tiring. One comment, an offhand gesture, one-syllable conversations... They were partners, damn it, so why didn't they just act like it!

"Let's stop this." She murmured, shocked by her own boldness. Soul looked at her, small bits of confusion on his face as a mask.

"Stop wha-"

"This! This... stupidity! We're growing apart and I hate it! I mean, here we are, standing in front of a music store we both know has some connection with the other yet we're not voicing it. You play the... the piano here and I'm trying to buy it, and-and-"

"What?"

"I mean what's there to miss when you're gone?" She mumbled, her sentences becoming no more than a ramble of her thoughts and feelings. Hot tears pricked at her eyes, falling. Embarrassed, she dropped her head and swiped at them with her wrist.

Surprised when a warm hand slipped under her chin, she looked up to see wondering red pupils. Sniffling, she wiped at another stray tear.

"What the hell are you on about?" He asked, his voice smooth and low.

Well she was cornered now. There was only one option out of this situation, and that was answering his question.

She inhaled slowly, and turned her eyes away a bit, still vaguely aware of his hand on her chin as she spoke. "I understand you're a Death Scythe now... I just don't understand why I have to miss you so much when you leave. You act like such a jerk, you know? Slacking off in school and sleeping in and being unappreciative- calling me tiny tits... But here I am, buying you the piano you play behind my back, in the hopes you'll play it for me and I just wonder-why?"

Even more shocking to her was when she felt him push his forehead against hers. Her eyes flicked back to his, closer than ever now. She felt his breath wash over her face with each word he spoke.

"'S called love."

Which, she knew, was the exact answer. She'd just denied it- over and over, _and over. _Because admitting that she was attracted to- no, in love with him- was the hardest thing she could do. Besides miss him. Because no matter how easily it came to her it was hard to go through that feeling. Just as it was to love him.

"Well I don't know about tha-"

Firmly, he placed his lips against hers and she lost the train of thought she'd been working on. Everything but his lips, his taste, his smell, his feel, just... _him_, was forgotten.

"And just you know- you're an angel. Maybe I don't show it often enough but..." Her breath hitched in her throat, his eyes warm and soft and loving... the moment pure bliss.

"You're _my_ angel."

* * *

**A/N: So, yeah, that's it. Just a oneshot. I don't usually do those on their own... For some reason it's irking me to do so... Oh well... Yeah, but I hoped you liked it! There are a few things I'd like to point out though:**

**When Matthew is holding a "bow with the hair hanging off the top" in the store, he is holding the bow for a string instrument, probably a violin. The hair is only attached at the top because it came out at the bottom and he's fixing it, b/c, well... it's a music store. (I just didn't want anyone to be confused about that. You know, anatomy of a bow... ha...)**

**Soul-ness... I wonder how many people are going to find that absolutely fangirl squee worthy or say that it's a horrible defacing of the English language... either way I'm good becuase truthfully... I really couldn't think of a good word to describe Soul. BECAUSE HE IS AN ENTIRE AWESOME ENTITY ON HIS OWN TYVM!**

**And the references to Shinigami in place of God or Lord. I've said this before, I'll say it again: He's a God. He's treated like one and the translating of his freaking name is Death God! That is my position on the subject!**

**Well, I guess that's all. I really hoped you like~ Please favorite and alert and allllll of that good stuff! ^_^**

**Revieweth the storyeth! (I don't know why, Im just having this thing about 'eth's' lately...)**


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